Within Reach
by Jest'lyn Tal
Summary: Sometimes when she spoke with him she could feel a predatory edge tugging at her smile. She caught herself smirking and waiting for him to make a mistake...But she didn't know why. FShep/Jacob justification, FShep/Thane, then Jacob/Jack if you squint
1. Chapter 1

Standard Disclaimers: I don't own Mass Effect 1 or 2! I'm making no profit and nothing in this story is mine except for, perhaps, some characterization.

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**Within Reach**

She wasn't sure why she was pressing so hard.

In quieter moments, at night waiting for sleep to finally drift over her, or in the morning as she prepared to face the day, she sometimes wondered about it.

Sometimes but not often.

She seldom spent time scrutinizing her motives or doubting her decisions, anyway. She spent even less now that she'd been dragged back from the dead, a golem designed by hopeful Cerberus operatives to protect them from their fears.

But when she thought about it she had to grudgingly, and somewhat uncomfortably, admit that how she was handling _him_ was baffling.

Even to her. Especially to her.

It wasn't that she was incapable of flirting. She was a woman, after all. It wasn't that she was usually passive either. She was a soldier, a leader. That meant that she could get damn aggressive about what she wanted if it came to it.

That was usually when she stopped trying to rationalize things because inevitably, traitorously, she'd remember Kaidan and their talks.

_"I don't want to distract you too much..."_

_"You're right. I might need to loosen up. A little. I'll try. " _

_"I wanna follow through with this. It's tough keeping it separated from duty. But when the mission's complete, it'll be different..."_

No, those weren't the phrases of a man doing the romantic pursuing. She'd been aggressive there, too.

No. No, absolutely not. As much as she instinctively rebelled against thinking about Kaidan and the loss of him, she rebelled even more at the mere thought of comparing the two situations.

Kaidan had been an intriguing man that she wanted to get to know better. She'd wanted to spend time with him. She'd trusted him. She'd cared about him.

And it had been mutual.

It … had to have been.

It'd been warm and friendly, sweet and gentle, even when caution was involved.

This.

This thing with _him_ was not warm. It was not friendly. It was not gentle and it was by no means sweet.

At this point in her musings, during the very few times she allowed herself to think this far, she would play with the thought that this fierceness was not like her. It was downright disconcerting.

This wasn't her at all.

Or maybe it was. Commander Shepard, who fought to the last and brought her enemies to their knees, could be quite ruthless when the situation demanded it.

She just didn't want to think about why _this_ situation demanded it.

She didn't want to admit that the anticipatory thrill she felt when she sought him out on the ship was like what she felt when she was walking into a hot zone. That the awareness which made her conscious of every smile she gave, every tilt of her hips or deep breath, was given by the same adrenaline that helped her maneuver for tactical advantage in battle.

She didn't want to admit that she would deliberately goad him, push to draw his fire in their verbal sparring, then juke.

She didn't want to admit that the grim pleasure that she got when those dark eyes of his went first startled, then wary, was the same thing she felt when she took down an enemy.

When he'd respond with something smooth and playful, it was the satisfaction of gaining points, of placing a bullet in the sweet spot between armor plates.

And when he'd shut her down, lock her out, act as if he had control of the situation and call those infuriating stark endings to their conversation…

…it only made her more determined to break him.

She had to believe that she hadn't started out trying to beat him. Play him. Win. Make him regret every condescending superior remark…

"_You want to get friendly with everyone, that's your business..."_

"_You are trying to…"_

"_Talk... let's see where it goes…"_

"_I won't disrupt the ship with this..."_

But somehow it had become that. Somehow, his distrust of her and his desire to remain isolated and professional hadn't earned her respect or consideration.

It'd done just the opposite. It'd drawn every hateful, angry, resentful feeling she'd been working so hard to control ever since she'd raged against her own death, terrified and alone...

_Come on, Jacob. Show me what you got._

_Because you aren't the one in control here. _

_You will follow me. You will want me. I'll make sure of it. _

It wasn't like her.

It wasn't like her at all.

And she had to get control of this bewildering maliciousness, quickly, before she did something stupid and jeopardized the mission just to get a solid hit on someone who didn't deserve half of the negative feelings he'd suddenly become the focus of.

No, Jacob was not Kaidan.

Kaidan was gone. She couldn't reach him for reassurance. She couldn't reach him for comfort.

And she could not reach him to make him pay for not being there when she needed him most….

Jacob, on the other hand, was right there.

He was well within her reach.

Which, of course, was the point.

Unfortunately, Shepard never let herself dwell on it long enough to realize that.

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Author's Note: I am in the middle of replaying ME2 and had decided to romance Jacob. At this point, I think I'm going to finish the romance, arrange for him to die in the final scene, and see if I can get Thane or Garrus after the fact! I was having the hardest time understanding why Shepard would possibly fight through all the barriers he puts up and his manner – and needed to work it out. Technically this fic could (and maybe will) fit into the larger scheme of my other ME2 fics. If that is the case, this would take place before Garrus has rejoined or Horizon. Shep's unresolved dark-angst-hate can only be a result of feeling like she's up against the universe completely on her own. Heh – there may be a Jacob's point of view fict coming, but…


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers: Not mine! Bioware's!

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"_You are a glutton for punishment, Taylor."_

It was his roommate in Boot who had told him that, laughing as he did so. It'd been good times back then. Taylor had been impressing his instructors with his cool under fire and ability to adapt to hard situations, he'd had good friends at his side, and most weekends he had one gorgeous lady or another like a prize for a hard week's work.

Everything was in front of him and nothing was impossible. If he worked hard enough, he'd get that posting with the Corsairs and he could go out and make a difference in the universe. In the meantime, there was no reason he couldn't also live, drink and be merry, was there? After all, tomorrow we may die, right?

He was smart. He knew how to keep things in order. There were things to do and work to get done before a person could go out and enjoy what life had to offer. There was a price to freedom even personal freedom.

It was finding out that, more often than not, personal freedom was a damn illusion that was the hard part. The Corsairs were supposed to be elite for a reason. They were supposed to be able to take care of those situations where politics might make things difficult. Plausible deniability was their stock in trade. If they had to eliminate a Batarian terrorist cell that just happened to have an ambassador's son in the mix, they did it. No one could come back and hold it against the Alliance.

At least, that was the idea. It started to sour, slowly but surely. Jacob found that will power alone wasn't enough to make things right. He was willing to lay his life on the line for the Alliance, for what needed doing. Instead, he found himself on questionable missions with no real gain to be seen. Finally, that got to be too much and he'd asked for a transfer.

Eden Prime. A new colony and a new start. He could actually help people there, he was sure of it. Lend a hand, do the right thing. Make something that would last.

At least, until the Geth attacked. He watched as the situation went straight to hell around him and did his best to pull it back from the edge. He failed. He wasn't the type to take on guilt that wasn't his. He did the best he could. He saved lives, at least some at any rate. But the fact that he didn't have clearance to go after the bastards, to follow up on this invasion of his home, his chosen turf, left him seething.

There was some vindication when the Citadel was attacked. When the Normandy and the Fleet came through and saved the day, they took revenge for him by proxy. He had envied Commander Shepard when he'd heard. He'd thought that there was someone he'd like to meet, like to buy a drink for. She'd done it, kept them safe. He couldn't help but respect her for that, even if he wished that he'd been able to be a part of it.

Later, he found himself grimly realizing that even heroes didn't live forever, nor were they immune to being reduced to a meaningless symbol. After she died, they held her up as a paragon to recruit new, naïve kids, and ignored everything she'd been trying to tell them.

It was too much. The whitewash after he helped save the council from the Batarian plot was too much. His increasingly dark debate about whether the Alliance was worth his life and his time was too much. He resigned and for days wondered what the hell he was going to do with himself now.

Miranda and he had parted on amiable terms, but if the job she'd offered had been just station security he wasn't sure he would have accepted it. It would have felt like accepting a desk job. There was too much happening in the universe; too much at risk to sit back and just let things happen.

She'd explained the mission though, and despite himself he found himself interested. Shepard brought back from the dead? This he had to see. This he had to be a part of.

Weeks past and he was. He watched a lump of shattered humanity become the possibility of a person. Recognizable again. He saw a legend redeemed with nanotechnology and surgery after surgery. While this happened, he and Miranda tried and toyed with their relationship. More like he tried and she toyed. He cared about her, he really did. However, her thoughts were on Shepard and on the mission she was given. It didn't take him long to realize that while he'd been falling for her, she'd only been enjoying a diversion.

Yeah. A relationship between co-workers was a bad idea all around. A relationship with a Type A personality boss was even worse.

He got over it. He always got over things that upset him. Jacob had many talents but shoving the past behind him was something he did with nearly unparalleled skill.

Life went on. You kept moving with it or got sucked down.

Besides, by now Jacob had plenty of reasons to keep moving.

That's what he told himself when the hours of training in the gym didn't quite block out the disappointment and regret that left him feeling unfinished, unfulfilled, and uncertain. Sometimes, the quiet hours were like torture for all the time it gave him to think.

Then that body in medical bay started breathing. A corpse became a woman. Not that he saw her much, but Miranda was pleased enough to show off progress every once in a while.

It only took one blaring alarm and a flood of Geth to turn that woman into a soldier. Competent and driven. Controlled and practically radiating an aura that said, "Trust me" and "We're in this together".

Jacob wasn't so easily drawn in but he felt it. He followed his gut and told her what he figured she needed to know, rules or no rules. She deserved that much and, admittedly, he was somewhat curious what this hero would do with that knowledge of what had happened.

She moved forward, that was what. It was admirable. He liked her for it. And he was willing to admit that he was cautiously hopeful that there might be a reason for him after all. Something he could do to make things better. To be a part of saving the universe from what was coming.

Shepard. Leading them through the fire and making them grateful for the chance.

Shepard. Sauntering into his armory, trying to understand how he worked and why.

He'd been through that before. He knew the steps and he knew the dance. But he wasn't up for being anyone's pawn again, legend or no legend. Most women backed off from the sort of honesty he was shoving in her face. Her? She just started really turning on the charm.

And she was charming, mischievous and full of promise. Even so, the sultry drawl in her voice kept reminding him of Miranda, even as it slid down his skin and pooled into want.

He'd play along. He'd see whether this was some way to get under his skin to figure him out or whether she really meant the things she was teasingly offering. Jacob was nothing if not cautious, after all. He'd learned that much.

That didn't mean, though, that there weren't times when he found himself looking forward to talking to her. That he didn't anticipate that wicked smile on her face and the steel against steel sharpening of their conversations.

He'd pretend that thinking about her and the things they could do together didn't make him feel like he was in Boot again. Didn't make him hopeful or like he was part of a group that could take on any problem that came their way. Didn't make him feel like there was a gorgeous woman waiting for him like a prize for keeping the faith.

Then, maybe, he'd figure out exactly what it was that Shepard wanted.

Call him paranoid, but he was damn sure it wasn't really him.

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Author's Note:

… I couldn't help it. I was inspired. Hopefully the quick writing holds up to the scrutiny of others. Please feel free to let me know where it might not though so I can improve it.


	3. Chapter 3

Standard Disclaimers: I don't own Bioware or Mass Effect.

Note: Some swearing in this chapter.

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_Weeks later_:

She'd smelled of lavender and patchouli, an odd combination that must have come from her perfume being one scent and her skin cream something else. He'd be running by the couch, toy spaceship in his hand as he made 'pew pew' sounds for attack, and she'd reach out with surprisingly deft arms to gather him up and close.  
"Every day is a new chance, Jacob," she'd tell him, "You hold on to that. Every day will bring you something new, whether it be trials or triumph. You take them one at a time and enjoy it all, you hear me?"

He never thought about it at the time, but once he'd grown up he wondered if that was his grandmother's way of trying to help him cope with a father that was never around.

It didn't matter. She'd always done right by him. His father, when he was there, had done the best he could.

Ah, but he didn't want to think on that any more. Acting Captain Ronald Taylor had done what he thought best at the time and soldiered through his problems even up until it led him to a jail cell. Jacob knew in his heart that he would not have done the things his father had done on that beautiful planet of decay. Sometimes the line between strength and weakness was very fine, but Jacob still figured he'd know the difference. But, as that poor woman had said, he did share the man's face. Shared his blood.

But it was over now. Things didn't get done by dwelling.

He looked up from his place sitting at the mess table. It was late. Most of the other crew had long ago sought their bunks. He was only down here because a mission had brought the team in well into third shift. Not that he'd been on the team, but he liked to keep up on matters.

Not that he'd gotten much information.

Commander Shepard was in talking to that assassin again. Fine. Her choice. Jacob couldn't help but feel a little ancy that it was always the same trio heading out lately when it came to mission choice, though. Garrus, Krios and Shepard. There was no denying they worked together well. Damn well, in fact. They covered ground and racked up a body count with almost inspired grace.

If Jacob was towing the party line, he'd say that what bothered him about it was that Cerberus wasn't represented. Their fate was being left up to a woman brought back from the dead and two aliens.

Truth was he didn't give a shit about that.

He was loyal to Cerberus because they gave him a paycheck and a chance to help fight to keep innocent people safe. He was loyal to Shepard because, despite everything, she'd been there for him. Finding out about his father. Watching his back. Talking with him late at night and dangling in his face the promise of some of those good things that the universe supposedly offered.

Been there. Talked. Promised.

Past tense.

Yeah, well. Things happened. It wasn't as if they'd done more than talk or flirt. It wasn't as if he'd been in love with her. He wasn't that easy to take down.

Besides, he wasn't sure who it was that he'd of been in love with, anyway. He knew Shepard, cool Commander, and he liked her. He liked having someone he could trust at his back because she could do her job. Competency wasn't an option for him, and the league Shepard danced in when it came to that was definitely nice.

He'd thought he was getting to know Shepard, teasing siren and sly conversationalist. She set off nearly every alarm bell in his head, but he didn't join the Alliance and then Cerberus because he disliked playing dangerously.

He'd liked her too. A lot.

But he'd noticed something, something seemed to have started when Garrus came aboard and only got progressively more evident until, when Tali arrived, it was as clear as day.

Shepard smiled at Jacob. She talked to him. She gave him cover when he was under fire and she showed him genuine concern when she thought he might be upset.

But those shoulders of hers never relaxed around him.

Her voice never gave him the soft tones that she used to address the drell or the light ring of the joyful banter she threw out to Garrus.

It would have been a bad idea.

To try and make something between them.

He liked to keep things light if he could. Especially after Miranda. But there were some women that you didn't go light with and some women who could inspire you to throw caution to the winds. Shepard was his Commanding Officer. She was a legend. She was...

… someone he hadn't figured out and, now, probably someone he never would.

Which he thought was a shame.

He stood up and took his tray over to the trash.

"What the hell are you doing up?" the low rasp to the feminine voice, as well as the rather illogical irritation to it, marked the speaker as Jack even before Jacob glanced over.

The woman was leaning, casual, against one of the struts by the table, acting as if she'd been there for some time. The dimmed lighting slid down from her shorn scalp, along her shoulder and then down her arm. Those arms were crossed over her chest and she was looking at him with her patented "I'm bored, you fuck-tards need to do better" look.

"Putting this tray away," Jacob returned, unbothered. "You want something?"

Jack shrugged one shoulder and looked off to the side. "To get off this ship, find a decent bar, crack a few skulls and blow their money on whatever I want." Her voice twisted to mock lightness, "You know. The usual."

"Good luck with that."

He set down the tray and turned to walk back towards berthing. He didn't try to avoid Jack in doing so, even though there were two ways back into that hall. Giving her space was like giving room to a half-tamed dog. It was a sign of weakness and he knew she would mark it as such. She watched him as he walked by and shifted her weight uneasily.

"Hey, drone," she barked out unexpectedly, before he'd gotten more than a couple yards beyond her.

"Excuse me?" Jacob stopped and then turned to look at her.

She grinned at him, unrepentant, "I'm bored. You are awake. Let's do something."

Yeah. Do something. Right. He wasn't in the mood to deal with a psychotic woman who had all the impulse control and socialization skill of a two year old.

Still, there was something in the way she was watching his face. Demanding, yeah, aggressive, of course, but also protectively wary.

Jack may have felt that keeping her distance from the rest of the crew was safer, better, and in the grand scheme of things, she was right. If you didn't get involved, you could always get out easier. But she had been given even less to do than he in recent missions, and that sort of inactivity would start playing with anyone's sense of equilibrium.

It must have been really getting under her skin if she was driven to asking him to "do something".

"You favor that shotgun of yours pretty heavily, right?" Jacob said, finally.

"Yeah, why?" Jack shot back as she began to saunter over, a lazy sway to her hips.

"Come on up to the armory. Find out." He turned again and started for the elevator. The lady could use a lesson in asking nice.

"Fuck you, Jacob," Jack drawled in return. A response, but not a retort. By the time the elevator reached that deck, she was stalking inside with him.

Every day was a new chance. An opportunity for triumph or trial.

...

Yeah, Grandma. But some days I'm still wondering what the hell that really means.


End file.
